sexta-feira, 27 de janeiro de 2012


cohen, 1970

An eskimo showed me a movie
he'd recently taken of you
the poor man could hardly stop shivering
his lips and his fingers were blue
I suppose that he froze when the wind took your clothes
and I guess he just never got warm
But you stand there so nice in your blizzard of ice
O please let me come into the storm.

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